No stronger proof could exist, so far as the Cooleen Bawn was concerned, than her extraordinary power of conciliating love and attachment from all who approached her, or were engaged in attending upon her person.  The singular softness of her sweet and mellow voice was in itself an exponent of the remarkable suavity and benignity of her disposition.  In fact, she carried a charm about her—­an atmosphere of kindness and benevolence that no human being who came within its influence could resist.  Her smile was a perfect fascination, which, in addition to her elegance of form—­her grace and harmony of motion—­her extensive charity—­her noble liberality of sentiment—­and, above all, her dazzling beauty, constituted a character which encircled her with admiration and something almost bordering on worship.

At this time a scheme came into the fertile brain of Whitecraft, worthy of being concocted only in the infernal pit itself.  This was to prevail on the squire to remove her faithful, attached, and confidential maid, Ellen Connor, from about her person, under the plea that as, unfortunately, Miss Folliard had been seduced into an affection for Reilly, it was not only probable that her attendant had originated and encouraged her passion, but that it was also likely that, as Reilly was a Catholic, Connor, the confidant, being herself of that persuasion, might so work upon the feelings and principles of his daughter as to induce her, for the sake of the more easily bringing about their marriage, to abandon her own religion, and embrace that of her lover.  The old man became instantly alarmed, and, with his usual fiery impetuosity, lost not a moment in dismissing her altogether from his family.

When this faithful girl found that she was about to be separated from her fair and affectionate young mistress, no language could depict the violence of her grief, nor could that mistress herself refuse the tribute of her tears to her sense of the loss which she knew she must sustain by her absence at a crisis when she stood so much in need of her friendship and attachment.

“Oh! it is not for myself, my dear mistress, that I feel this grief,” exclaimed Connor, weeping bitterly as she spoke, “but for you.  Here you will be alone,” she proceeded, “without one being on whom you can depend, or to whom you can open your heart—­for many a time you eased that poor heart by telling me of your love for him, and by dwellin’ upon his accomplishments and beauty—­and, indeed, it’s no wonder you should, for where, oh! where is his aiquil to be found?  Like yourself, every one that comes near him must love him; and, like you, again, isn’t he charity itself to the poor, no matter what their creed may be—­oh, no! it’s he that is neither the bigot nor the oppressor, although God he knows what he himself is sufferin’ from both.  God’s curse on that blasted Sir Robert Whitecraft!  I declare to mercy, I think, if I was a man, that I’d shoot him, like a mad dog, and free the country of him at wanst.”